Grape Lucidity on Ice
by Burntsugrr
Summary: Gil spends a weekend in Boston in winter. Someone else shows up...there's no way to summary this without spoiling it. Romatic, self indulgent, hopefully visually lush bit of fluff with nary a bit of blood or guts to be found.
1. Default Chapter

Gil watched as Logan Airport disappeared from the window of the town car. He gave silent thanks that his driver wasn't the chatty sort and lost himself in the maze of the Big Dig.

Check in at the Fairmont Copley was smooth and efficient; in fact everything about his weekend in Boston was rolling along suspiciously well.

At 9:00 he showered and dressed in a dark suit and tie. Miguel's brownstone was only a few blocks away but Grissom opted for a cab rather than braving the cold December evening. Boston had many strong points but weather wasn't one of Grissom's favorite things about the city.

A black iron fence surrounded the small yard on Marlborough St. It's gate opened to a brick path leading a short distance before three stone steps. The large wooden door was open, a storm door closed out the chill. Through the glass Gil could see men and women in standard cocktail party clothing milling through yellow light. They carried champagne flutes and wine goblets, coffee cups and the inevitable tumblers of amber Glenrothes. Before he could press the discreet circular doorbell Connie, Miguel's round and rosy-cheeked wife appeared and invited him in.

"Gil, brilliant, you've made it! Mig was positive you'd be delayed with all the snow they've been threatening. Come in, come in!"

He found himself nearly sucked into the house with vacuum force. The warmth of the home was more than the work of a fireplace and radiators. There was a sense of joy, camaraderie and safety here that showed in contrast to the day in and day out of Gil's life.

Connie relieved him of his overcoat, handing it to a passing friend with instructions to "dump it on the bed with the rest darling" and led Gil up a flight of stairs and through the small gatherings of friends. Her hostess work of presenting Gil to her husband with a flourish finished Connie disappeared as quickly as she had popped up at the door.

Miguel hugged Grissom warmly and Gil fought not to bristle at the gesture. Instead he backed slightly and put a hand on Miguel's shoulder. "Congratulations Miguel." His smile was wide and genuine. Introductions were made; the small circle around Miguel consisted of Harvard colleagues already making a dent in Miguel's famous stash of rare scotch and cigars. Piano music drifted from an adjoining room. Gil excused himself to the bar. "No sense leaving all this good whiskey in the coffers and Miguel with all this retirement time on his hands. If we don't drink the bulk of it we'll be responsible for his advance into alcoholism."

There were roughly 50 people at the party, enough to keep a brownstone buzzing with activity, and enough that you didn't necessarily see the same people over and over as you mingled from grouping to grouping. Gil didn't mingle much as a rule, but he knew a few people here personally and more professionally. There was enough shop talk and literature review to keep him feeling mostly on top of things, and enough whiskey to make him not mind so much when he wasn't.

He was feeling a warm sense of comfort and complacency about a particular window he had been leaning next to when someone mentioned that it had begun to snow. Most of the revelers took little notice, being from Boston, or at least New England, but a few drifted toward the window for a look. He turned himself and pressed his forehead, slightly fevered from the rare slosh of alcohol in his blood stream, against the cool windowpane.

"Wow, it's snowing pretty hard, the road's already covered."

A vague familiarity played at the edges of his consciousness but he chose instead to focus on the sparkles of white in the streetlamps. "At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows."

"Grissom?"

His attention snapped quickly from Shakespeare to full realization of what he found familiar.

"Sara?"

She laughed, and he stared, confounded. Before he could register how stunning she was in the red silk dress, he had to force himself to place her in the situation.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" She leaned against the opposite wall and lifted her glass to her lips.

"I had no idea you'd be here. I take it you had Miguel as an instructor?"

Sara sighed and shook her head. "You really don't read any of that paperwork you sign do you? I had to requisition this weekend off. I left it all on your desk…you _signed _the paperwork."

He smiled, sheepish, "Probably in the pile of stuff I had Catherine cover. Hell of a long way to come for the retirement of someone you had a class with."

"It was more than that." She gave him a minute to wonder, and was rewarded with an arched brow.

"I was his TA and then I started babysitting for him and Connie. This was my second home all through my senior year. He's the one who got me the job in the coroner's office in San Fran when I was in grad school."

Gil smirked, "And all this time I thought I was your mentor."

She held her glass out to him, "Oh, you were, later, but Mig got there first."


	2. Chapter 2

"What about you Gris? How do you know Miguel?"

"We attended a few of the same workshops when I was a doctoral candidate. After I got my degree we did some research together and published a few papers."

"Yeah, now that you say it I think I've read a couple." She motioned toward the bar with her chin and made a move in that direction.

Gil followed. "I wouldn't be shocked if you'd read them all."

Moving through a particularly boisterous knot of partygoers Sara was surprised to find her supervisor's hand in the small of her back. It seemed at the same time both possessive and needy, and she enjoyed it completely.

"Another Merlot please. Gris? You need another drink?" He smiled, nodded and lifted his glass in the direction of the bartender.

They received their drinks and stepped away from the crowd. He clinked his glass to hers. "To old friends." She half smiled, "Yeah, friends."

It was as if every time he touched her, no matter how casually he had to throw in a reminder of the restrictions on their relationship. Noting the disappointment in her eyes he qualified, leaning in a little closer than strictly necessary, "I meant Miguel."

"Yeah, I- I know" She was flustered by the simple intimacy but before she had the opportunity to obsess over it one of Miguel's colleagues, a professor who had retired himself a few years before took her by the elbow.

"Make an old man's dream come true. Dance with me?"

Grissom accepted the wine glass she handed him and watched as Sara was guided to the makeshift dance floor. She was humoring the older man, making polite, lightly flirtatious conversation. He didn't need to hear her words to know the gist of the exchange.

"Gil? A bit of friendly advise. Close your mouth. And perhaps reacquaint yourself with blinking." Miguel's eyes twinkled.

It took a little work to get his tongue to fit in place, sucking it to his teeth a few times helped but not as much as downing his drink in a single pull.

Miguel kept on, "She's beautiful, I'll give you that."

Gil smiled despite himself. He had already forgotten Miguel was at his side. "It was never really about her beauty." He mused, unable to take his eyes from the way her skirt moved as she danced.

"Of course not." His old friend chuckled. "I'm sorry, someone seems to have dumped a whole pile of steaming _Syncerus caffer_ excrement around here…"

Gil turned, finally, away from the dance floor and looked at Miguel with a smirk, "No Miguel, no buffalo shit, I'm not denying her beauty, you know me better than to fight the evidence. I'm simply stating that I work in Vegas. You become desensitized to traditional beauty pretty quickly when it's everywhere." Now he allowed his eyes to settle back on Sara, "No, it isn't her physical attributes that take my breath away."

Miguel chortled, "You are as they say, too far gone for recovery. I think you have been bitten."

"Smitten" Grissom replied quietly.

The song ended and pleasantries were exchanged. She began to make her way back to him but was caught by a younger man this time. He was a new professor at the university, around Sara's age, perhaps even a bit younger. He asked for a dance and Sara complied. He held onto her through two songs and as song three began Sara threw a helpless glance at Grissom over her partner's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Excuse me," Grissom tapped the man on his back, "I believe you have something of mine." This resulted in a confused look, pushing Grissom to clarify, "May I cut in?"

Sara slid into his arm gratefully and wrapped her fingers around his hand. "Something of yours?"

"Shhh," he chided, "I don't like to talk when I'm dancing."

Rolling her eyes before she closed them Sara laid her head on his shoulder. She mused that if she'd had less to drink her head, if on his shoulder at all, would be closer to his arm than his neck. As it stood her nose was just less than an inch from what most would call nuzzling position. She began to wonder how much _he_ had consumed to let her so close to him, but the thoughts were fuzzy and overridden with the pure sensation of his body pressed against hers. Eventually the analytical side of her brain relented and she took complete notice of how it felt to be held by him.

'It's tough to fight when you've soaked me in scotch.' The thought kept circling in Grissom's brain. He knew he'd said one or two things he shouldn't and was well aware that he was holding Sara much too close to him. Who had given his thumb permission to stroke her lower back like this? Certainly not his mind, it was trained to know better. Perhaps thinking would be easier if he couldn't feel her warm breath against his neck. Oh, certainly if her hair didn't smell so good he'd be able to take a step back. Room for the Holy Spirit, isn't that what all the nuns used to say, back when he believed in nuns? Thoughts tumbled over each other, making less and less sense until finally he felt Sara give a small sigh of content and made a decision that just this once he'd live in the moment and let this be.

Reluctantly at the song's end they stepped apart. An awkward moment filled the space they'd left as a void. As usual, Sara was the more brave of the two and spoke up. "Thanks for the save. That's guy was nice enough but whew…one too many trips to the onion dip."

"Any time. At your service."

"I'll remember that. Where did you leave my wine?"

Scowling he chastised her, "Sara, you never drink anything you've lost sight of, you don't know what someone may have put in it."

Already ordering another she decided to push the issue with him anyway, "But I left this drink with a friend."

Too drunk not to take the bait, "You never know who you can trust."

Her face had the look of a cat about to nab its well-cornered prey, "So you're saying it's possible you drugged my drink, usually a stunt pulled by a man looking to sleep with an unwilling woman."

"I'm saying you never know." His smile was smug under his beard.

She leaned her shoulder to his chest and whispered up at him, "Well, just so YOU know, you don't have to drug me."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As the party wore on the couple were separated by various introductions and conversations but somehow, like magnets, always seemed to end up standing in each other's proximity.

It was nearly midnight when Sara went to the bedroom to collect her coat. Grissom followed her, but stayed in the door, leaning against the frame and taking in the sight of her. The room was dark, lit mostly by the moon. Sara bent down to sort through the pile on the bed and her hair fell to her cheeks. He wondered how many times he had watched her work a scene in similar rooms, lit in similar fashion and wondered why tonight was so unbearably different. Why tonight was it so difficult to stay at least 6 paces away? Why so hard to not touch her milky white skin.

Over the years, at various times, he'd looked over at her while she worked and been taken with her, and occasionally, yes, allowed his imagination a short run on a tight leash. Tonight the leash had been snapped and in his mind he pushed her down, atop the mishmash of coats and pillows and kissed her over and over, his hands pushing the red silk further and further up her thigh.

"Shit." Sara's voice brought him back to reality and he realized his breath had become a tinge ragged.

In through the nose… "Something wrong?"

She held up her cell phone. "I missed a couple of messages from Jeanie." She pressed in numbers and held the phone to her ear. She listened to the first, nodding into the phone. She erased it and the second message began. "Crap." Sara sat on the bed and hung up the phone.

Grissom twisted his mouth, and then raised his brows, "Problem?"

"I was supposed to stay with my friend Jeanie and her husband. She picked me up from the airport and we went back to her place just long enough for me to change. She had to work tonight at the hospital and was going to meet here after her shift only she just left a message saying that she got in a car accident on the way over. Totaled her car but she's just bruised I guess. She said to see if I can stay here or get a hotel just for tonight cause the roads are pretty bad." The words were in a rush; she was in a mild panic. The mix of wine, and concern made the situation more calamitous in her normally rational mind.

"I have a hotel room." It escaped before he knew it. He took a cautious step closer to her, still trying to completely shake the vision of kissing her. "You need a place to stay, I have a suite. I'll sleep on the sofa you can have the bed. Problem solved."

"You don't mind?" It was a fight to keep her voice even; her heart was thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

"Don't be silly. I'm sure Miguel already has a houseful with the relatives here from Maine. There's no reason for you to get a room of your own somewhere when I have a perfectly fine room nearby."

Sara stood, her coat in her hands. "Thanks." There was that uncomfortable space again. She had her coat but he made no move to get his own. Where they going, or staying a little longer? She felt like a schoolgirl on a first date, unsure of what to say or do.

"Why don't you leave your coat while I call a cab? We can say goodnight to Miguel and Connie." He started for the door; she replaced her coat on the top of the pile.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A single green cardboard tree hanging from a radio knob does not spread a Christmas-like pine scent to the backseat of a cab that smells overwhelmingly of Italian sausage.

It was a toss up for Sara whether she'd rather the driver show caution over the icy Back

Bay roads or just go for broke and get them to the hotel before she was sick from the smell.

Her head lolled on the back of the seat as the cabbie corrected a skid to avoid colliding with an illegally parked car. Grissom raised an eyebrow in her direction, "If we'd known we'd be taking the amusement park route maybe we'd have foregone that last drink eh?"

She leaned in close to whisper, "It's less the motion, more the aroma."

This got a chuckle, "Sara Sidle. The girl who doesn't flinch at the scent of rotting flesh but turns green if someone has meat for dinner. You're one of a kind honey."

She sat up a bit straighter. "Woman."

His quizzical look begged the explanation she provided, "The kind of WOMAN who doesn't flinch at rotting flesh, which, I do, by the way."

He nodded his head slightly. "Noted."

She didn't miss the amusement in his eyes.

He allowed her to pay for the cab rather than freeze to death in an argument over short money. In the elevator Sara rubbed her hands together to get back the feeling and he resisted the urge warm them for her.

He slid his key in the brass slot, "This is us."

"Wow Gris, fireplace, living room, felt a little extravagant when we booked this huh?"

He shrugged, "I like to be comfortable." He hung his coat in the closet and helped Sara remove hers. "Do you want anything?"

"Uh, like from the mini bar? I think I've had enough."

"Like from Room Service, I'm going to have them send up an extra robe and a toothbrush for you."

"Oh, hmmm, do you think they have pajamas? Like in a gift shop or something?" Sara settled on the sofa and watched Grissom flip through the phone booklet.

"This isn't Vegas, not much 24 hour shopping I'd imagine, but I'll see what I can do." He dialed room service. "This is Gil Grissom in Room 603, I'd like someone to bring up an extra robe and toothbrush if that's possible." He loosened his tie while he spoke. "Thank you. I wonder could someone rustle up a pair of women's pajamas, size small? No. That's all right, no; it will be okay, thank you. Um, as long as you're coming up would you mind bringing a pot of tea and also lighting our fireplace? Thank you. Yes, 603. Thank you."

"I guess pajamas are out. Maybe I could wear the top of yours?" She tried to play it off as problem solving, but it was flirting, pure and simple.

He removed his jacket and then his tie, his back to her, "What makes you think I wear pajamas?"

"Don't you?"

He turned to face her, his head cocked slightly to the side "Not usually, no."

"Oh well, I'm all for naked as long as it's unanimous." Sara lounged back but made no move to undress.

"Let's not get carried away. I'm sure I have a t-shirt you can sleep in and you'll have the robe for lounging."

"Huh, I always pictured you in those pajamas like Rock Hudson used to wear in Doris Day movies"

"You have some strange ideas about me Sara. Did you want to shower?"

Sara gave him an eyebrow raise and sassy smile "Shower? And you say I'm the one with the ideas."

His ears turned red but his the flush didn't reach his face, "I meant…"

"I know what you meant. I think I'll hold off until the morning if it's okay with you."

"Works for me. Would you like the radio or the tv on?" He pointed to the entertainment center.

"Radio I think, but not Christmas music. Too depressing."

Gil rolled up and down the dial landing on a classical station.

Sara made a face, "classical?"

"You don't like DeBussy?" He made no effort to change the station.

"Where should I start? First, we're in the middle of a snowstorm, La Mer is not the most appropriate piece. Second he's not exactly Wagner, there's no complexity to his movement."

"I should have known, physics gir…woman, it's all about the math." He turned the dial and found Etta Jones singing about what would happen "If I Had You". Definitive he turned the sound to just above background level.

Sara stood, barefoot and a tiny bit wobbly, "This is nice, dance with me to this?"

He didn't have time to resist. She rested against him, barely swaying, lost in the mood of the music. A dark curl slipped inside the collar of his shirt, lightly tickling his neck when she moved. He was relieved when she turned her head and the curl slipped out, but the reprieve was short-lived the tickle replaced with the softness of her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Sara," his voice seemed pleading instead of authoritative.

"Shh, I don't like to talk when I dance." He felt her smile and his heart contracted.

A knock on the door received a quiet epithet from Sara. Grissom closed his eyes for a moment, giving both silent thanks and curses of his own for the interruption.

While the fire was being lit Sara changed into Grissom's simple soft blue t-shirt and the hotel robe.

Her head popped out of the bathroom door, "Are we alone?"

"We are. Feeling shy?"

"I'm not exactly dressed for company." The shirt did a fine job of covering what the robe missed on top but when she walked it split to reveal a little more leg than she was willing to share with room service.

He poured her a cup of tea and set the service on the coffee table near her spot on the sofa. Taking his own cup he sat across from her.

"Aren't you going to change Gil?"

"Not yet. Does that bother you?"

Sara considered, "No, I guess not. It doesn't seem comfortable though."

"It's as comfortable as I can afford to be at the moment." Was that a glint in his eye?

They sat a few minutes listening to the music, lost in their own thoughts.

Sara slid down a little on the sofa, stretching her long legs beside her. Her gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames, "Gris can I ask you something?"

He steeled himself, "Go on."

"Where do guys learn that hand on the back thing?"

"I'm not following…" he leaned forward, interested and relieved.

"Tonight, when we went to the bar, you put your hand in the small of my back to sort of guide me through the rooms. Where do guys learn to do that? I would never think of doing that to someone."

Now he sunk back into his chair and considered. "From watching what men do I guess. How do women learn to cross their legs with one foot tucked behind the opposite ankle? A guy would never do that, but it's one of the sexiest things I've seen a woman do."

Sara's lips twisted and she closed her eyes, "I never cross my legs." It came out like pout.

"My point is that we learn from watching. A boy watches his father walk his mother into church every Sunday with his hand on her back, guiding her through the door and down the aisle, he knows that's his job."

She rolled onto her hip and looked at him, "Did yours?"

"My father? There was a time he did I suppose. I don't think I learned much from him about how to treat women."

"Tell me about him." Story time. Her eyes closed again.

"There isn't much to tell. He died when I was very young, I don't remember much."

"Do you remember the first time you saw me?" her voice was quiet, her eyes still closed. No warning signs of a loaded question at all.

"I don't know. I can say I remember the first time we spoke, but I probably saw you before that." He was wishing now for something stronger than the tea, the scotch was wearing off too quickly, or not quickly enough. Stuck in the place where he wasn't quite drunk enough to tell the truth, not sober enough to trust himself to stop before it came out.

"I remember the first time I saw you." She slid one foot along the opposite leg, a simple gesture but he found it impossible to look away. "I was early for the seminar because I wanted to be sure I'd get in. I'd read some of your papers and was so anxious to see the slides you might bring."

"Bug slides."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have such a close up relationship with maggots yet, they were still a nifty theory. There were only 3 of us in the room when you came in. You had no idea if you were in the right room, must have checked that door 12 times. Then you were bumbling around with the slide projector."

"Sounds like I made an inspiring impression."

"I remember it like it was today. I remember watching you and thinking, I wonder who takes care of him. I thought you were about the cutest thing I'd ever seen."

"Sara." A soft warning.

"I went to the luncheon after. I looked for a ring, but I knew there wouldn't be one. I had you all worked out. You lived alone, you worked too much, ate mostly take out. I actually worried whether anyone made sure you had soup when you were sick. Isn't that the strangest thing? All I wanted to do was take care of you. It wasn't until I knew you a little better that I wanted you to take care of me."

"My college roommate and I used to have a word for this."

"For what? Reminiscing?"

"Grape Lucidity. The wine induced rambling confessions and musings usually better left unsaid."

Sara rolled this thought around in her head. "I don't suppose you've ever had such musings?"

"I'm not immune." His tongue licked out at his top lip, a tick that showed itself when he was either amused or testing waters.

"Sometimes I think you do that just to drive me crazy." She sat up and picked up her tea. Her brown eyes challenged him over the rim of the cup. "I think you like the reaction you get from me."

"Do what?"

"Obtuse doesn't suit you. When you play with your tongue the way you do. Roll it over your teeth, lick at your lips…" she exaggerated the motion and he laughed.

"I assure you Sara, I have no ulterior motives, but when you do it I can see the allure."

She felt the robe fall away from her upper thighs but left it alone, "Are you flirting with me Grissom?"

"Probably. Could you fix your robe please, despite your occasional admonitions to the contrary I am only human."

Sara stood and dropped the robe. She locked her eyes with his, "Prove it."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

He held her gaze and willed his heart to stop pounding.

She was aware, as the seconds ticked by, that she should feel exposed and perhaps even foolish, still standing, still challenging him, when he hadn't moved a single muscle. Somehow though, she didn't. Instead she felt a little frightened. She wasn't sure he had taken a breath since she stood. The tension in his body was palpable, like a spring in too tight of a coil, something quivering at rest and dangerous when unleashed.

The first movement, his hands clenched and released. His lips followed, pursing, remaining so for long moments, all the while his eyes never leaving hers.

He crossed to her in two long strides and she found herself stepping backward away from him, but too late. He swept her into his arms. The shock of it took longer to register on her face than it did in her mind. He had her, back against his left arm, knees draped over the right, her legs dangling, kicking slightly.

She tried to speak but all she managed was a small squeak.

When she found his eyes again there were clouds there. She could feel the panic in her own and tried to push it away. She hadn't wanted to goad him into something he didn't feel. Didn't mean to force him to make a move on her to prove his humanity.

She felt his breath escape his chest in a ragged way. Desperate to hear his voice, for him to say something that would let her know it was okay, she managed, "Grissom?"

His face softened, he shook his head slightly and carried her across the suite. Leaning down he managed to pull down the bedspread while keeping her balanced against him. With impossible gentleness he settled her on the mattress.

He kissed her temple, a full lipped, soft and somewhat lingering kiss and then whispered in her ear, "Sleep sweet Sara."

Before she could protest he went to the bathroom and rested his head against the cool tile. Eyes closed he could see her, couldn't stop imagining what he might have done with just a touch more scotch. He reached out and turned on the cold water of the shower.

(not the end, fear not)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The sound of a cell phone ringing prompted Grissom to grope around his bedside table. It wasn't there of course. He was sleeping on a hotel sofa, not in his own queen size bed. Before he even opened his eyes the orientation cleared itself. He heard Sara answer in a hushed voice.

"Hello….Hey, how are you?"

The light from the windows assaulted him right through his eyelids. He listened to her voice, allowed it to drift over him.

"I'm fine, turns out my boss was at the party and had a suite at the Fairmont…yeah, that boss…"

Grissom stifled a smile at that even though she had her back to him.

"Do you want me to rent a car or…"

She was listening, quietly spinning one wet strand of hair around her finger. She must have showered while he slept.

"Well if you're going to come here can you do me a favor and grab a pair of jeans and a sweater from my case? Thanks, I feel like a slut coming out of a hotel in the morning wearing an evening dress."

Grissom grunted and stretched, wanting to alert her to the fact that he was awake. Sara turned and gave him a one finger wave before finalizing pick up plans.

She snapped her phone shut. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He sat up, "No problem, it's time I'm up anyway. Did you sleep okay?"

She thought of his words in her ear, "Sleep sweet Sara" and a vibration shot through her. She pasted on a smile, "Yeah, fine. Sorry you got stuck with the couch."

"Probably better for my back anyway." He was wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered room service. Bagels and coffee." She was busying herself making up the bed, straightening things that didn't need it. Avoiding his eyes.

"Sounds good. Did you find everything you needed this morning?"

"Oh, toothpaste and stuff, yeah, I went in your shaving kit, I hope that's okay." She kept her back to him now.

He thought of her long fingers picking through his personal items, moving his toothbrush, razor and finally twisting the cap off of his toothpaste. There was something intimate about it, something that felt like a 'couple' and for a moment he treated himself to the fantasy.

She mistook his quiet for disapproval. "I'm sorry. I should have waited or just, um,"

"No, no, it's fine, I'm glad you did. I was just," he shrugged, " I'm still half asleep I guess."

He brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cool water. The shower curtain and tub were still wet from her shower, her toothbrush parked neatly opposite his shave kit. He tried not to wonder whether she put the robe back on after her shower or brushed her teeth in the nude. His mind ignored him when he rebuked it for the images it served, continuing to flash visions of her stepping out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel and picking through his things.

He was tired. It took a long time to get to sleep the night before. When he had exited his own shower the robe and t-shirt she had borrowed were neatly folded on the sofa, an obvious sign to him that she was only feet away, sleeping in only her flawless skin between the sheets in which he'd placed her. He'd lost the battle against his better judgment and smelled his shirt, her perfume and 'Sara-ness' still clinging to it. If he had been alone…but he hadn't and the shower would have to be the last of his indulgences for the evening.

Sara was seated at the table by the window spreading raspberry jelly on a blueberry bagel. He sat across from her and poured himself orange juice in a water glass, ignoring the diminutive juice glass she had set by his plate.

"You can barely tell that it snowed down there." Grissom craned his neck to see the street.

Sara peeked at the slushy gray sidewalks, "It melts fast in the city, all the car exhaust. I bet it's a white wonderland at the Common's though."

She took a bite of her bagel and a glistening streak of jelly remained at the corner of her mouth.

"You have jelly…" Grissom started to wipe it but instead pointed it out to her and watched maybe a little too intently as she cleared it with the tip of her tongue.

She looked down at her plate. "I'm sorry about last night."

He smiled, the kind where the right side of his mouth went up and the lines around his eyes crinkled. It was his genuine, sweet, smile that was reserved for friends and it set Sara at ease immediately. "It was flattering. Almost impossible to resist."

"Almost." Had she said that out loud? She hadn't meant to. It was too much like self-pity.

He raised his brows at her. "Another one of those man codes, things we learn and aren't sure where. When a woman you care about gives you an opening after consuming enough alcohol to alter her judgment you have no option but to decline."

"I guess I should appreciate that."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Grissom was aware of the wetness on his cheeks, the raw paths that his tears made, but he made no attempt to remove them. He had chosen this corner balcony of Jordan Hall for exactly the purpose of solitude. A Saturday rehearsal of the Boston Philharmonic drew a small crowd of blue hairs and they stayed mostly on the floor.

Had anyone been able to see him they might have thought he misunderstood the music. Not that it was unusual to be moved to tears by Tchaikovsky's 9th Symphony, titled by his brother as "Pathetique". The first movement after all is filled with a death motif, downward scales winning out over the up scales nearly every time.

His tears started with the graceful introduction of the second movement. He knew what was to come. The second contained promise that would not be fulfilled, Tchaikovsky knew it, but still expressed the finery of proffered love from unfettered youth.

By the time the third movement begins, ending the smooth waltz of the third and replacing it with something you can't put your finger on Grissom was in full sob. The third movement struck him right in the chest, commiserating with Tchaikovsky's desperation at feeling too old and being discovered as having fallen in love with the wrong person. He could hear himself, the steady but joyless pounding beat and her, the almost unbearable lightness, Sara played out in wispy strings. Together they seemed mute, tonally canceling each other out instead of complimenting.

His tears had dried by the time the audio fireworks hit. He pictured Tchaikovsky, finally giving in to his carnal desires, the explosions of lust so long denied. It was seconds before his mind returned to Sara, standing in front of him, challenging him to let loose a few cannons of his own. He pictured her in the hotel room bed, sleeping, naked, a dark stray hair across her cheek. In his reverie he came out of the shower and instead of the couch knelt above her, straddled and kissed her awake. That was the sum total of the foreplay in this flight of the imagination, they writhed together powerfully and wordlessly but the rhythm wouldn't even itself and he lost the thread holding the dream together.

As the finale of the symphony dies downward he remembered her leaving his room today. Black jeans and a red sweater, embracing her friend, she had introduced him and then wished him a good weekend before heading off. She hadn't asked his plans, hadn't invited him to join them, he wouldn't have. The march in the music returned, darker now and ominous.

He took a swipe at the long dried trails of salt down his face and left the hall before the cellos and bass got the last desolate note.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The best thing about attending an afternoon symphony in the winter is that it's dark when you leave. It would have been difficult to carry the mood and movement of the music out into sharp daylight, but the dusk was just exactly right.

Grissom hailed a taxi and asked it to bring him to Newbury Street. No, no particular block, he'd let the driver know when he was ready to get out.

Traffic was slow, taillights glowing ahead of him. He slumped a little in the cold seat. Maybe "Pathetique" wasn't the best Christmas shopping primer. Of course when he'd obtained the tickets last month he hadn't planned on an evening of temptation as a prelude.

Released from the cab at the Mass Ave. (and therefore less expensive) end of Newbury he began half hearted window-shopping.

The Trident Bookstore and Café' looked like somewhere Sara would shop. He found himself inside, not sure why. It smelled of patchouli and espresso. The lights somehow made it seem like it would have a homey darkness cast on its shelves even on the brightest summer day.

Grissom browsed the racks and picked up a few books that he thought might interest him. He ordered a coffee and felt like a criminal for not ordering something more exotic.

Seated at a table close to, but not directly in front of the window he flipped through the first of the hard covers.

"He thinks he's saving me or something." A girl's voice, without looking up Grissom guessed at her age, putting her in her early 20's. She was at the window seat with another woman, their seats too close together for him to not overhear.

"I think he's selfish. Where does he get off thinking he can tell you how to feel?" The second woman was obviously warming up to the idea of ripping apart some poor guy.

"He says he's bad for me. Screw that. Like I'm some kid."

"What an asshole."

"I mean," the asshole thing cut girl one. She moved to defending him now. "I know he's doing it so I don't get hurt. I know it's killing him to push me away, but I wish I could make him understand how much more it hurts that he won't even try."

"I think he just wants to keep you on a string. Not close enough so that you have anything to say when he decides to screw around, but close enough that he can get to you with a wink whenever he's in the mood."

"If he'd just let me be with him, then if I get hurt I can go, well, screw him. He was right, he sucks. This way though, if feels like there's something wrong with me, I'm not even good enough for him to hurt."

Gil got up, left his still steaming coffee and neglected books where he had set them. He nearly tripped over the hurt girl's chair trying to get out of the tight tangle of tables.

"I'm sorry." Was he apologizing for hitting her chair, or for the guy who wouldn't let her in? He wasn't sure.

Back on the street he shopped his way down two blocks. This time he made purchases, a few small things for the people with whom he shared his days. He hadn't found a thing yet for Sara, nothing seemed right.

Tchaikovsky scales played in his head, spiraling downward into the words "I'm not even good enough for him to hurt." His bags felt heavy in his hands, the cold beginning to bite through his gloves; he sought refuge in a restaurant with a bar downstairs. He chose the bar over a table, too lonely to sit one at a table today.

He ordered a merlot, downed it and ordered another. He didn't particularly care for the wine, too dry for his taste. He would have preferred a scotch, or even a beer but he heard himself order a third glass of the merlot.

He made small talk with an attractive graying woman on a neighboring stool. She picked at the pretzels in the bar and his mind crazily informed him that Sara would know better than to eat from a bowl sitting open on a public table. The woman rambled on about Christmas shopping and family coming in for the holiday, all of it inane but Grissom was happy to have someone talking at him. It was less…pathetic, you should excuse the overuse, than drinking alone, and at least she didn't expect much from him in response.

He wasn't certain how long he sat there, but when he stood his legs felt filled with concrete, and the outside had gone from dusk to dark.

Not wanting to sit alone in his room he walked toward that Public Gardens and Boston Common. Sara had said it would be a winter wonderland and she was right. Pure white snow glistened under trees swirled with red, white, green and blue Christmas lights.

The wine didn't do a thing toward changing his mood. He almost wished he'd had enough scotch the night before to show Sara she was good enough to hurt. He couldn't get her out of his head, tangling her words and motivations with the music and the girl in the café.

The Frog Pond at the Boston Common was covered in people ice-skating. Grissom watched for a long time, picking out couples that were apparently mismatched, by age or size or any other prejudice we put on ourselves. They all reached out to one another, depended on one another and laughed with each other. When was the last time he'd reached out, depended, laughed?

He moved closer to the ice without really noticing. A dark haired girl skated by, holding the hand of a child. Her back was to him but it was so familiar Grissom figured he'd begun hallucinating. He tried to see where she went but lost her in the crowd. This time he moved closer on purpose, searching for her.

When Sara came around again the little girl was skating backward in front of her and talking animatedly.

Merlot sloshed against a deafening crash of fireworks in his head.

"Sara!" he half ran toward her, slipping on the snow and crashing onto the ice. He took down a teenage boy with him who was back on his feet and skating away before Grissom had the opportunity to be embarrassed.

She hadn't heard him, but she's seen the commotion and turned back to see if anyone was hurt. That couldn't be Grissom on the ice, could it?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

She skated to his side and meant to kneel beside him but caught her skate on the corner of his coat and fell, landing on top of him.

"Grissom? Are you okay?"

Her dark eyes were shiny with concern, her cheeks alive and rouged from the cold, her words touched him in clouds of visible breath that hung in the small space that separated them.

He merely looked at her.

She looked up briefly and saw Janelle, her Goddaughter skating on with a friend. She returned her attention to him.

"Gris? What are you doing here? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I'm sorry." He laid his head back in the snow and closed his eyes.

"Did you hit your head? Look at me." He did and she gave him a slow, cautious smile, "Sorry for what?"

"For not letting you know you were good enough to hurt."

Confusion. He was losing her. "What? You're not making sense. Maybe you should sit up, let me feel for a bump on your head."

He remained on the ground, there was a hint of red in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm so bad at loving you."

The sentence barely made it out of his throat. It was quiet and measured, difficult to hear over the music and crowd but she heard it, probably more with her heart than her ears.

She leaned closer to him, "You don't do such a bad job."

He caught her in his arms and rolled her onto her side, at the same time touching his lips to hers, not really a kiss, more like a finger placed over a wrist, taking a pulse. Sara fought the impulse to increase the pressure, preferring instead to see where he would take them.

He slid his closed mouth along her lips, detoured up for a chaste kiss at her rosy cheekbone and then back, tracing the outline of her mouth with the very tip of his tongue, lingering at the corner where hours earlier she had cleared away the jelly. With that she could hold back no longer, arching into him with her body and capturing his bottom lip between hers. He seemed almost surprised, as though her response reminded him that she was real.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Their mouths separated but they remained close.

In her ear, "Tell me it's not too late."

She remembered the night of the explosion. Her putting it all on the line and his rejection, 'I don't know what to do about _this" _"By the time you figure it out it really could be too late.'

"Did I taste wine in that kiss?" She dodged his request.

"Chase the evidence, Sara." He leaned in for another kiss, this time breathless and deep.

She beamed at him. "Is this the Grissom brand of Grape Lucidity?"

"On ice."

"Lucidity on the Rocks?" she laughed. She stood and offered him her hand.

He stood and wrapped himself around her; she matched his height on her skates. "Come back to the hotel with me?"

"Are those your bags?"

They were. Scattered where he started his fall. He picked them up, set them next to him.

"You haven't answered me. Come back to the hotel." He stood away from her now, less sure of himself, he looked down at the snow.

Sara looked around. "How about dinner? Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

"Never mind." He bent to pick up his packages.

"No. Uh, okay, I'm coming. Let me just…I have to get rid of these skates and let Jeanie know I'm going." She looked at him as though he might fade, an apparition of smoke and mirrors.

"I don't want you to do anything you don't…"

But she had him by the arm, pulling him to the locker area. She handed him a small orange key with a locker number on it. "Get my stuff out for me while I skate around and find Jeanie okay?"

He looked at the key in his hand then up at her, like someone waking from a coma. She kissed his cheek. "It's not too late. I lied. It would never be too late."

He watched her skate off, his mind too filled with fluffy cotton and mesmerizing kisses to appreciate her strong legs and confident strokes on the ice.

Inside her locker he found a pair of shoes not meant for snow and a folded down shopping bag. She had obviously done a little Christmas shopping of her own before hitting the rink. He removed the bag careful not to peek inside, not wanting to ruin any Christmas surprises she may have in store for him.

Once her shoes were on Grissom added the handle of her bag to those of his own and they started walking. She slipped her arm through his, and he wondered at her motivation. It felt nice, but he worried whether he was maybe staggering a bit.

He was. She didn't notice.

"It was rude of me, back there, to refuse dinner. I'm sorry."

Shaking her head in wonder, she'd never know what to expect from him. "Stop apologizing."

"Are you hungry? I didn't mean we couldn't eat. I just thought you were looking for a way out." He kept his eyes fixed ahead of him.

"I'm hungry Gil, but not for anything we'll find outside of that room."

Now he looked at her, bemused. "That was a very un-Sara response. Did you have a little wine of your own this afternoon?"

"You can't judge my response in this situation against work responses, bad baseline data. And no. I haven't been drinking today."

It started to snow lightly. He stole a glance every now and then at flakes caught on her eyelashes, in her hair, and envied each of them, melting into her pores.

Arriving at the hotel the elevator doors barely closed before they began kissing again, her hands under his coat, arms encircling his waist, he at a disadvantage, holding their bags. In the room he dropped every thing and reached for her.

She stroked her fingernails lightly through his beard, "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this? Every time I look at you I ache to touch this, to feel it on me... everywhere. I nearly begged you to shave it afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself one day."

He removed her hand, kissing her palm and then rubbing his chin softly against her, creating a tickle induced goose bump road along her inner arm, inside her elbow and then kissing the soft flesh there. She couldn't hold back the quick moan that escaped her.

"Make us a fire?"

"Anything."

There were enough logs and kindling left behind from the night before, no room service required. When he was safely on the other side of the room Sara snatched up the t-shirt she had borrowed before. "I'm going to take a quick shower, I'm gross from the skating."

He cast a worried glance in her direction. "Sara, I don't care about that,"

"I'll feel better. Let me be ready for you, okay?"

He couldn't argue. "Want help?" he gave her a goofy grin.

"Next time."

Sara took her time in the shower, forcing herself to slow down. She wanted to rush back out to him before he changed his mind but remembered what he told her, if someone you care about offers you an opportunity when they've got clouded judgment you have to decline. She couldn't decline, but she could give him time to sober up, to panic and retreat. That's why she had asked about dinner, and it was why she was stalling with the shower.

Towel drying her hair she padded barefoot out of the light bathroom into the suite, mostly dark except for the fire. "Grissom?"

Nothing.

She peeked around the sofa, no Grissom.

Had he left? Had the panic won out? Was she a mistake?

A soft sound came from the direction of the bed, Sara investigated.

Grissom, still in his slacks and sweater, sound asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Lucidity

Sara smiled in the darkness. He was beautiful when he slept.

She climbed carefully onto the bed beside him, not wanting to wake him. It was better this way. He was on his side, curved slightly, and she fit neatly next to him. She faced him and studied him with a leisure she hadn't been afforded previously.

She thought about the nights of torture, working so close to him but rarely touching, always wishing. It didn't matter what happened now. If he woke up and this spell had been broken, if they didn't reach the logical physical conclusion of this weekend of temptation, she would somehow still be satisfied. She knew now how he felt; that it was as difficult for him as it had been for her, and somehow she thought that might be enough for now.

Before long her breathing fell in step with his and she too was peacefully asleep.

'Cozy. Nice.', his mind not really putting it all together. Grissom wrapped his arm around Sara and drew her closer to him in a sleepy embrace. She snuggled, lost in a dream, too deep to completely awaken. They retained this position for a time until he reached down, tilted her face up to his and kissed her. She returned the kiss, still half inside a dream.

His hand slipped down, finding the bottom of the t-shirt. He rested his fingers on her thigh; she slid her leg over his, his hand falling behind her and coming to rest on her backside. Her fingers curled into his sweater, pulling at him like a sleeping child at a stuffed toy. He stroked the soft silk of her panties and then pulling the shirt up with his hand, played his fingers along the path of her lower spine.

"Uhhhh" her breath came out as they parted, his mouth dipping to taste her throat. She pulled at the edges of his sweater, urging him back so she could remove it. When it was gone, he resumed his exploration of her neck, using his beard to pave the way, following with his open mouth.

He pushed her gently to her back, working the t-shirt up her abdomen as she rolled. Sara reached to remove it but he caught her hand, "Not yet." His voice was raspy with sleep and sex.

He kissed the skin he had exposed and then with a wicked grin in her direction rubbed his face downward, the motion pulling the top of her panties down some and then went back to meet her mouth.

"Tease" she said it into his kiss. He cocked an eyebrow and slipped the shirt higher, sliding his hands up her sides. She scraped her short nails into his back.

Again he left her mouth to explore the newly exposed flesh and again he traced is way downward, the panties a little lower now with his chin. Her fingers slipped through his hair, tugged at the dark gray thickness and then caressed his temples as he came back to lick at her lips.

His fingers teased her through the t-shirt now and she nipped at his chin with her teeth. This brought on a most satisfying moan on his part and she smiled to herself.

The t-shirt made it over her head and he lowered himself. She expected his kisses to continue the pattern he had created but he surprised her, his chin appearing between her thighs, spreading them slightly, she trembled at a hot burst of breath against the thin scrap of silk that separated him from his conquest.

"Kiss me." She begged it.

He immediately returned to her mouth, crushing himself down on her now, full length. His arousal making itself apparent in the place his chin had been. She wrapped her legs around him, her arms tightening as he moved against her, "Sara, oh God, Sara…"

She released, she pushed him up and rolled him off of her, getting to her knees and tearing with shaking hands at his zipper. He watched, the sound of their breathing, the vision of her hands, all of it being put into a file for a day when…a realization came over him and he sat up.

His voice dead serious,"Stop."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

A/N I'm finding these next two (or so) chapters particularly difficult. I worry about the rating system here and so, an alternate, less metaphoric and more NC-17ish version of is at my diary, email me for the link.

Something twisted in Sara's stomach. She had just managed the zipper when he'd made his demand.

He had never seen her so fragile. He reached out and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry. I just realized I have no…protection."

She palmed him through his boxers, a slow smile started at her eyes and crept lazily to her mouth. "Is that all?"

"I don't want to take any chances here." He held her hand away from him.

"Seem to me we're taking plenty of chances here." She pulled her hand back and slid her fingers into the opening of his pale blue shorts.

"Sara. Even if you're on the pill, or the patch, or whatever, I haven't exactly been living like a monk, I believe I'm clean, I believe you're clean, but I don't want to…"

She gave him a small squeeze and pushed him down with a kiss. Straddling him now she slid to sit on his stomach. "You Gil Grissom have been a VERY good boy. Tell Sara Claus what you want for Christmas."

"Honey, please…"

"Since you've been," She touched her fingers just inside her panties, where his beard had left small scratches, "SO good, I think maybe I have a little something for you."

She swung off of him in smooth motion and strode across the room, comfortable in her skin. Gris crawled over the bed, lying on his stomach, as much as he could, to watch her.

Sara picked up the bag he had carried from the skating rink and reached inside. She slipped something small from its depths and ran back to the bed. Bouncing onto the mattress in front of him she tossed Grissom a small net bag.

He looked at the gold foil coins inside with disbelief. "Babe, I know the studies say chocolate releases the same chemicals in the brain as sex, but this is one craving Godiva is not qualified to satisfy."

Sara shrugged and sat Indian style across from him. "Never assume." She pulled a coin from the bag and dragged it's foil edge against her teeth, opening it half way.

"Well, what do you know? It's a Christmas miracle." Her face set in mock surprise as she turned the coin to show Grissom the bright red condom inside.

He moved to take it but she held it high, schoolgirl keep away. "Looks like I'll have to find something else to give good ole saint Nicky."

Permission for wild abandon as granted as it ever would be Grissom faked a lunge for the prize in her hand and when she stretched higher he dove and opened his mouth to her breast. Sara dropped the coin in surprise. He slipped one hand behind her back, strong, steadying her sitting position, her long legs unfurling before her. His other hand lay flat, palm down on her abdomen and began an agonizingly slow sweep to cup her soft flesh.

She bent, rubbed her cheek against his temple. He alternated, teeth, tongue, suction, cool blowing, and all the while tracing small hearts on the tight pinkness he found with the forefinger of his otherwise occupied hand. She twisted her fingers in the sheets, her head thrown back now, wishing she could pull it together to please him but so lost in the feel of him, the vision of him, and maybe most importantly the strength of him. It had been some time since she'd thought of Grissom as strong, but it was evident here, in his hands, his back, his mouth and his resolve.

He teased between her breasts with his tongue, and then began tasting the outer curves of them, eventually raising himself, sitting half beside, half behind her. He kissed her shoulder, the nape of her neck and then breathed into her ear "You are exquisite."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N If anyone is still interested in reading this you have my most sincere apology that it has been such a long time coming. Since I last updated the woman I've been dating for the past few years passed away after a grueling battle with cancer. It was difficult to find a voice with which to write while I watched her suffer and pass. I'm healing now and find that continuing this finally feels possible. Thank you, for sticking with me. And one more thing, the more steamy version I promised is beyond my abilities for the moment, you'll have to make do with the following.

Chapter 15

Sara smiled to herself. His words landed in a previously hollow place, filling and warming it.

Turning she held his gaze for a long moment and then kissed him. Urgency from only seconds before seemed to melt away. It wasn't sex. Not anymore, not for Sara, and judging from his response, not for Grissom either. This was more. It was a merging. It was an acceptance of all that they were. Being with Sara forced Grissom to face himself, every part of himself dead on and drop his excuses and walls. Giving herself to Grissom for Sara meant accepting that she was worthy, allowing herself to be vulnerable, and to leave behind the 'it would all be better if' that makes not having what you want such a dangerously seductive thing.

He lay back, taking her with him, never breaking the kiss. Her weight on him meant more to him now than the simple titillation of skin on skin. It was a comfort and a connection. It was a trust forged with another human being that he had questioned his ability to create.

There was no grace to the manner in which he shed his remaining clothes and that was exactly right for Sara. She didn't want this to be a storybook moment. She needed and was blessed with the reality of him, struggling, grunting, and smiling at himself.

His entrance however, into the core of her was something beyond her imagination.

Sara, unlike Grissom, had frequently given her mind permission to imagine the many ways in which this union could occur. Most frequently and easily she pictured him fumbling, timid and boyish. She had conjured him consoling her, an arm around her in her time of need turning to something more nurturing. She had wanted him punishing her for making him lose control and taking her with violent force, her hands pinned over her head.

What she had not before imagined was feeling as though they had been doing this forever. As though they had begun making love before the pyramids were designed.

She had not imagined being so present, so blissfully aware or that their joining was a completion, not an explosion.

Grissom needn't have concerned himself earlier with worries of being off rhythm with her. The moved together as if it were the only way either of them would ever fully experience movement for it's own sake. Cacophony and dissonance were nowhere in range, instead a harmony played out between them, a crescendo and ebb of breath, action and acceptance.

She loved the way his eyes darkened when a small whimper of pleasure escaped her throat.

He adored seeing her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she closed her eyes and clenched herself tighter around him.

Lying on her side, her breath slowly returning to normal speed, she smiled at him.

"What?"

"I like the way your hand feels on my hip." It was the last thing she said before her eyes closed and she was lost to him in slumber.

He stroked his thumb across her flesh and whispered, "Me too", kissed her cheek and submitted to the downward pull of his eyelids.


	16. Chapter 16The End

Chapter 16

The room was flooded with bright sunshine. He wanted to stretch until he remembered that the warmth under his arm was a woman. THE woman. Grissom opened his eyes slowly, as much to preserve the gauzy dreamlike state he was in as to adjust to the brightness.

She was still there. Sara Sidle. She had not disappeared in a violent thrashing sweaty dream as she had so many times before. Instead she lies next to him, naked but for a crisp white sheet and his arm.

Sara sleeping, satisfied and safe.

He smirked to himself, his mind playing with words, forming haiku's and rhymes, delighting in the possibilities presented of Sara, naked in the sunlight.

He gazed at her and thought about the two of them, only hours before. She had been playful, serious, lusty, wanting. Wanting. Him. He shook his head. If only he could understand why.

Sara had always carried herself with strength. She was a woman on a mission, be it a good time or taking down a wife beater. Even when she was caring, it was strong. Standing up for victims, feeling for victims, all of it through will and determination. He didn't know where she stored it all; she was so small and fragile when you stripped away the bravado.

All along he had been afraid she would need him, now he knew that he was capable of letting her.

"Mmmmm. If this is waking up in Boston I want to wake up here every day." Her fingers traced his forearm where it lay across her.

"The going to sleep part wasn't too bad either." He kissed her hair, hoping she'd turn to face him but she snuggled deeper to his chest. He found he enjoyed her way more.

"Let's not leave. Let's stay here, pretend we forgot our way home." Her eyes were closed, her fingers laced through his.

He considered. "We could, but I'm afraid the others would find us. They're pretty good at their jobs."

Now she did turn, smiling, "Damn them."

They shared a kiss and when they broke apart she saw the clock on his nightstand.

"Wow, we slept pretty late. You flying back today?"

He threw a sideways glance at the clock and tightened his grip around her, protecting their space against time. "I am. You?"

"I'm on shift tonight boss."

Her flight left hours before his but she had enough time to meet her friend for brunch (more like lunch) if she showered and dressed immediately.

Grissom urged her to go, he had shopping to do.

Sara called Jeanie and then headed for the shower. Grissom watched all of this from his position on the bed.

The water got really hot very quickly which was just what Sara loved. The room filled with steam and she stepped into the spray.

"I believe I have a rain check I'd like to cash in."

There was no time to react. Grissom slid the curtain aside and climbed behind her.

A thick rush of tingle and warmth shot through her stomach when he put his arm around her waist and pulled her back to him.

"You're going to make me late." She didn't sound convinced, but she had to try.

"Not me, I'm just here to help out." He kissed her neck and reached for shampoo.

His strong fingers worked lather through her hair and massaged her scalp while the warm water ran soapy rivers down her skin.

When her hair was finished he soaped his hands and began sliding them over her shoulders, down her arms, her back, and the curve of her bottom. She shivered a little as he made his way lower, spreading her thighs with the pressure of his soapy palm. He trailed shimmering bubbles down to her toes and then, kneeling on the tub floor asked her to face him.

Sara complied. Her long legs went on forever in front of him, silky, smooth and pale like moonlight. He ran his jaw around a kneecap and felt her slightly buckle. Steadying her with one arm he reached behind her for more soap. The move required balance, and a lean forward that brought his face in direct contact with her neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair. Her eyes bright with desire, she placed her hands on his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and then stroking the sides of his upturned face.

"You amaze me." Her voice was quiet, nearly lost in the sound of water hitting porcelain.

He soaped her hips, tracing circles there and then across her small abdomen. Her ribcage disappeared in foamy bubbles. Standing he cupped her breasts, sucking each nipple rigid before delicately soaping and rinsing them.

Sara snaked her arms around his neck and he bent to kiss her. She lifted her thigh, wrapped it around his, but he pushed her back. He ached for her, the physical evidence was conclusive, but with no protection handy and little time his needs would have to wait. She kissed his neck and nearly bit him when his slick fingers entered her.

It was a miracle that both were dressed and composed, drinking coffee by the window when Jeanie appeared at their door. Apprehensive Sara stood to leave. She wanted to kiss him goodbye, trying hard not to wonder whether this was the first of many morning after coffees or the last of them. She turned and placed her hand on his shoulder, "Thank you, for uh, everything…" but Grissom stood and walked her to the door, his hand, a good little soldier, in it's place at her back. When she was half way out the door he took her hand, pulled her back into an embrace and kissed her breathless.

XXX

"Long shift after a weekend away huh pal?" Nick almost felt bad for Sidle, she caught a rough case and looked spent. At least the clock on the wall was telling her she could punch her card and head home for some well earned rest.

"I'll survive." She opened her locker and hung her jacket on a hook. Before she could throw her FORENSICS baseball hat on the top shelf she noticed a small velvet box with a gift tag attached.

"To: Sara Clause, Love, The Improper Bostonian"

Inside the box she found a silver charm bracelet with five charms, a snowflake, an ice skate, a wine bottle and a heart all of silver, and one coin of gold.

Finish


End file.
